Until December Ends
by Ceanncait
Summary: A collaborative sequel to "Every Shadow Comes from Light." I need your help to find out how the story ends! Afton is in mortal peril and Guy is struggling to find a place with the Sherwood gang. They need to come together before it's too late, but how? It's up to you, my readers!
1. Author's Note

I have had a *lot* of requests for a sequel to "Every Shadow Comes from Light." I can't tell you all how much that means to me. The problem is that I started one, and I've been stuck for literally *years*. I'd like to finish it, but Guy has stopped talking to me about what he wants to be doing while Afton is in mortal peril. I need to get him back to her, but I don't know how to get him there.

So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to post what I've written and I am going to take suggestions on how to get him to her rescue. It will be a collaborative project. Read the following chapters, then let me know what you think. Thanks! **hugs**

Ceanncait, 1/2/14


	2. Chapter 1

Outside the oak doors of the wattle and daub church in the center of Clipstone village, a small boy swung a hand bell nearly as big as himself. Being selected as an altar boy was an honor all the village lads competed for, mostly for the fun of waking the village every Sunday morning with the sonorous brass bell. He continued to swing the bell with great energy and villagers, some still sleepy-eyed, started to stream towards the small church.

The boy felt a warm, clammy hand touch his shoulder. "Good lad. Wake the sinners and call their tired souls to mass!" the priest, Father William, said zealously.

"Are they all sinners, Father?" asked the boy.

"Every man, woman and child is a sinner in the eyes of God, my son. Even you. Even me. That is why we must be faithful, come to mass and make our confessions every sennight without fail." Father William's eyes rested on Mistress Afton Cooper, approaching the church in the company of her good-sister Edwina, Edwina's husband and their son. "Some in this village seem to have forgotten that."

He silently counted until all the souls in the village from the most venerable to the newly born were safely ensconced in the church. The two or three he marked as absent he knew to be either seriously ill or injured. That was the only excuse for missing holy vespers. He would visit them later, taking the Eucharist to them. Father William took the spiritual health of his village seriously. Soon, the bishop and perhaps even the Archbishop of Canterbury himself would hear of his work saving the souls of Clipstone and then, anything was possible.

He closed the doors to the church and gestured to the two altar boys to precede him down the aisle, one carrying the precious gilded crucifix and the other solemnly swinging the censer. It was his favorite part of mass, this stately promenade down the aisle with the attention of all the parishioners fixed attentively on him. He smiled benevolently on them, looking left and right to encompass all his adoring flock. Until he spied the widow Cooper once more. Then the smile died on his face.

Afton Cooper appeared to be a plain village woman, dressed in a dark green kirtle and modest shift, her brown hair covered with a white linen kerchief as was proper for a woman in church. But her very presence had always made him uncomfortable. He felt her eyes on him and _knew_ that she judged him and found him, and the church, lacking. Yet other than her odd refusal to use her Christian name, she had never done or said a single outward thing to warrant his discomfort. Until recently.

She sat in the rough pew, looking demurely down at her folded hands. But Father William knew her shy modesty was an act, a sham to entice men and women alike into believing that she was a decent, Christian woman. In truth, the woman was nothing but a heathen harlot. He had desired for years to find some reason to drive her out of the village, at the very least, to protect the villagers from her pagan witcheries. But she, like her mother and grandmother before her, provided a service the villagers both desperately needed and greatly appreciated. She had delivered every child in the village under the age of five with her own hands, not to mention treated wounds, broken bones and illnesses. To move against her without the strongest proof of her heresy would jeopardize his own reputation.

He desperately wished he had not been alone the day he had come across the widow Cooper in the barley field, indulging in shamelessly lewd behavior with a large, dark-haired man. Later that same night, he had crept back to her cottage and heard the unmistakable sounds of fornication. Yet the following day, he had called on the widow only to find no sign of any man having ever been there. He was convinced that she must have summoned him, a demon from hell itself, for some unholy purpose. Still, it was not enough. He needed more witnesses, more proof.

No, he would have to bide his time and wait. Eventually, the widow Cooper would make a mistake; reveal herself for the heretic he knew her to be. When she did, he would be there with all the might of the church behind him and she…she would burn.


	3. Chapter 2

It was roughly twenty miles from Clipstone to the outlaw's camp and Guy took his time walking through the forest. He stayed off the road, feeling vulnerable without his weapons. He did not even have a simple dagger with which to protect himself should trouble befall him. He felt naked without his sword and not for the first time wished he had had the presence of mind to bring it with him from the tunnel under Nottingham Castle. He hoped that when he found his brother that Archer would see him properly armed once again. He never entertained the idea that he might not find Archer alive.

Part of his mind stayed alert for danger at all hours of the day and night. But the remainder of his thoughts were on Afton. Always Afton. The sweetness of her limbs twined about him. The softness of her full lips. The gentle passion of her touch. Everything in him longed to turn around and run back to her. Everything but the nagging voice of his conscience that reminded him every moment that he was not and could never be good enough for her.

No, he would go find his brother, arm himself and then…_then what_? Afton might have saved him death from his wounds, but he was a dead man nonetheless. Eventually, King Richard would return and Guy's life would be forfeit for his treachery at having tried to kill the King not once, but twice. Not to mention having committed murder right before the King's eyes. Once, he had hoped Robin might speak for him on the strength of their shared kin and the fragile forgiveness they had forged during the brief time they had fought together. But Robin was surely gone.

Several more days passed as Guy slowly made his way south. A week after his departure from Clipstone, the weather turned foul. The wind howled through the trees and a driving, icy rain fell from the lowering sky. Guy, without cloak or blanket, was miserable and shivering. He knew that he did not dare stop for the night, lest he succumb to the cold in his sleep. He kept walking into the twilight, wondering how he would find his way once the light died completely.

His brain was so fogged by cold and exhaustion that when he felt something brush by his ear and _thunk_ into the tree beside him, he did not realize it was an arrow until a long moment later. When he did, he froze rather than sensibly taking cover behind a tree. "Who's there?" he demanded.

"I am Robin Hood."

Guy peered through the evening gloom and barely made out a cloaked figure half-concealed by a huge tree. His heart pounded in his chest and thoughts raced through his mind, one hard on the heels of the next. If Robin was alive, he could speak to the king. If the king chose to be merciful, Guy could return to Afton, if she would have him. Maybe, just maybe, he could rebuild the wreck his life had become. But when the figure stepped forward and threw back the hood, Guy's hopes vanished as quickly as they had appeared.

"Hello, brother," said Archer, slinging his bow over his shoulder and smoothly drawing the two slender swords he carried. Guy stepped away and felt the solid bulk of a tree at his back. "Imagine my surprise to find you here in _my_ forest. You really could do with some lessons in woodcraft. I've been tracking you for two days. You leave a trail like a blind ox." Archer advanced on Guy until the point of one of the swords rested at Guy's throat. "Excuse my rudeness, but why aren't you dead?"

Sudden anger bloomed in Guy, warming him from the inside. "I have an aversion to answering questions asked at the point of a sword, _brother_. I'd rather ask my own. Since when are _you_ Robin Hood?"

Sorrow came and went in Archer's eyes so quickly Guy wondered if he imagined it. "In good time. There is something we must have clear between us if I'm to let you live. Have you come to challenge me for Locksley?"

_Locksley? What had Locksley to do with anything?_ "The thought never crossed my mind," he answered laconically. "Locksley belongs to Robin. I renounced any claim to it to Robin himself, during the brief time I lived out here with him. When I _fought_ with him." _And where were you, brother, until the last possible minute? Cozying up with Isabella until it was obvious she was going to lose._

"Locksley belongs to _me_. Or it would, if Prince John hadn't garrisoned a company of Black Knights there. Robin…Robin is dead. Poisoned by our _dear_ sister. A fate which you, remarkably, seem to have escaped." Archer raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for an explanation.

"It is obvious that we both have tales to tell, brother. I'd be more than happy to share, in front of a fire, somewhere _warm_." Guy reached up and gently pushed the tip of the sword away from his neck.

Archer looked thoughtful. "I suppose there's no point in secrecy. You know where the camp is, after all. Come, then." He stalked away into the brush, then turned, eyes and voice full of menace. "Make no mistake. If you betray me or my people _in any way_, I will kill you, brother or no."

Guy gave a sharp nod. He'd seen Archer fight and was well aware that though his brother was younger and a touch smaller, he was more deadly than Guy could ever hope or wish to be. "So be it. I assure you, you'll not find the need."

"That remains to be seen," Archer replied, without rancor. He sheathed his swords. "Let's go. I'm freezing, too."


	4. Chapter 3

It was after dark when Afton let herself in to the cottage. She shook out her cloak before the hearth, watching the icy droplets it shed sizzle into puffs of wispy steam. She had delayed leaving Edwina and Christopher's home until Christopher felt compelled to walk her home, saying that a dark and rainy night was not safe for a woman alone.

Alone. The memory of the word gave Afton a physical ache in her chest. She wished she could confide in her good-sister and her husband, or in anyone, how lonely and hurt she was. It had been a sennight since Guy's departure and still, the pain was as fresh as on the first day. She suspected it would be so for a very long time.

_It isn't fair!_ she railed to herself. Since Edward's death, she had reconciled herself to living alone. She had learned to do for herself all the things he had once done. She had even gotten used to sleeping alone in her solitary bed. In just the space of six sennights, all her careful work had come undone. All the walls she had so carefully constructed were in rubble around her leaving nothing but emptiness.

In a way, it was worse than when Edward died. At least then, she had known he had not wanted to leave her. She stripped off her damp clothing and hung it by the fire to dry, then donned a clean shift and reluctantly climbed into bed. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering where Guy was and if he ever…did he think of her? Remember her fondly? She snorted. Likely she had deluded herself and he was nothing more than a man like any other, to take his pleasure and leave with no thought to the consequences.

The bitter thought made her feel better, momentarily, but she could not sustain it for long. She knew, _knew_, deep in her soul that Guy loved her. That he had chosen to leave, rather than face his demons and stay, made the pain that much worse for it meant that the memory of his murdered love meant more to him than the living woman who had offered him healing.

_It could never have been, Afton._ There was simply too much between them; a wide gulf formed of pain, station and faith. Any one of those might have doomed a potential union, all three combined were insurmountable. She told herself it was time to forget; to move on and resume her life as it had been before. But as she drifted into an uneasy sleep, she could not help but imagine Guy's strong arms around her, holding her tenderly and keeping her safe from the nightmares that were sure to come.


	5. Chapter 4

As they approached the camp, Archer gave the soft birdcall that would let his people know he approached. He wondered how they would react to his brother's presence. He, himself, had been hard pressed to hide the shock and, if he was to be honest, relief he had felt upon realizing Guy was alive. He prided himself on not being a slave to emotion, but finding a family then losing them all in the space of a day had been a hard blow to bear. Particularly Robin.

Archer wondered again how his brother had managed to awaken a part of Archer that he had not known existed. An opportunist all his life, he had been wholly unprepared for the rage that had risen in him when he realized that the people of Nottingham were going to be slaughtered like so many cattle. Witnessing Tuck and John make their brave stand against Isabella's guards had sealed the bargain. For good or ill, in that moment they had become _his _people. John, Tuck, Kate, Much, every farmer, goodwife and child; all his to protect and defend. It was a singularly odd feeling, living for something larger than himself.

When Robin had charged him to keep the work going and he had sworn with the remains of Robin's gang that they were "Robin Hood," he had not realized how much that would mean to both the outlaws and the people. In the ensuing weeks, he began to get a sense of how heavily the responsibility had weighed on his brother and how much Robin had sacrificed for everyone's sake but his own.

For his other two siblings, his feelings were less warm. His initial hatred for Isabella had mellowed into an angry pity. She deserved whatever hell she was rotting in, but clearly, she had not been in her right mind from years of abuse and torment, sold into virtual slavery by her own brother. The brother who now walked by Archer's side, despite the fact that Archer had watched him die.

Nearly everything he knew about Guy, he had learned after his brother's "death." He knew that Guy had viewed Robin as an enemy. He had stolen Robin's lands, competed for, lost and finally murdered Robin's wife in a fit of rage, yet had not hesitated to form an uneasy alliance with Robin to save Archer from the noose and to gain revenge on Isabella. Archer suspected it was more the latter than the former that had informed his brother's decision. Yet Guy had fought bravely on the side of the outlaws for some time and Robin had obviously seen something in him that caused him to call Guy "friend" at the end.

For Robin's sake, Archer was willing to hear Guy's tale and possibly welcome him back to the gang, if that was his wish. He was pragmatic enough to admit that he needed Guy's sword arm desperately. But he would watch him. Carefully.

Archer entered the camp with Guy a step behind him and watched as his gang emerged from the shadows. Kate's eyes widened and her hands clenched into fists. Much turned white and crossed himself. John gripped his staff in both hands and his eyes darkened dangerously. Tuck merely nodded, as though a long-held suspicion had just been confirmed.

Archer glanced at Guy, whose lip curled into a familiar smirk as his eyes took in each of the gang, one by one. "Surprise," Guy said, sardonically.

"Surprise." Guy looked at each of the remaining members of Robin's gang and the only reaction that surprised him was Tuck's. The friar looked calm and curious while the others looked as though a demon from hell had stumbled into their camp. In a way, Guy supposed one had.

Much finally found his tongue. "You…why…how…you _died_! How is this possible?"

"Articulate as ever, I see," Guy replied with a cordial nod to Robin's man.

"_This_ I do not like," said John menacingly, taking a step forward. He was joined by Kate who had drawn a short sword.

"I thought we were well rid of you, Gisborne!" She spat in the mud at his feet. "So many good men have died and _you_, you live. There's no justice in the world."

"Glad to see you, too, Kate, John." Guy hadn't expected the gang to welcome him back as though nothing had happened, but something about Much's shock and Kate and John's anger awoke a meanness in him that he had hoped was long gone. He sighed.

Tuck stepped forward. "I'm sure that Gisborne has a story to tell, but I think we should all get warm and have something to eat first." The dark-skinned friar gave each member of the gang, including Archer, a quelling, calming look that said _let us hear what he has to say before we decide his fate_.

Each member of the gang stepped away and began their part of preparing for the evening meal. They stole curious glances at Guy when they thought he wasn't looking, but he ignored them. Tuck came up beside him. "It is good to see you, my friend." Guy raised an eyebrow. "Truly," the monk replied. "But I can see that you are in some pain. If I may check your wounds?" It was not really a question for Tuck had him by the arm and was leading him towards his old bed before he could form a reply.

He allowed Tuck to lift his shirt, ignoring the soft whistle of disbelief the friar gave upon seeing the livid scars on belly and back. Tuck fetched an ointment and smoothed it over them. It instantly numbed the ache that had settled in them since it had begun raining. "You should use this every day. It will soften the scars and keep them from binding. My friend…Gisborne…how did you survive this?"

"I thought you wanted to wait until we were warm and fed before hearing my tale?" Guy replied mildly.

"Just so. You are right to remind me. But I must say I am eager to hear it. Whoever had the healing of these wounds was skilled, indeed," Tuck marveled.

"Yes. She was." Guy could not help closing his eyes for a moment against the pain of memory. He did not see the expression of understanding that crossed the wise friar's face nor the look of disbelief when Guy looked away and said, "It is not much of a story. I escaped the tunnel. A village healer found me and stitched me back together. When I was well enough, I left to see if I could find my brother. That is all."

"I see. I'm sure you realize how lucky you were? I have seen many wounds and these…it is a near miracle you are alive."

"Yes, I was…uncommonly lucky. But it is…all over now." Guy tucked his shirt back in, not meeting Tuck's eyes. "I will tell the story once and then I no longer wish to speak of it." He headed towards the fire with calm deliberation. "Tell me, has Much's cooking improved during my absence?"

After they had all gathered around the fire and eaten the rabbit stew Much had prepared (it _was_ better than he remembered) Guy told Archer and the gang his story. He told them in detail of his reasoning in pretending to die, and of his escape from the tunnel. Of his time with Afton, he told the bare facts, never mentioning her name or anything of their intimacy. He finished up by telling them that as soon as he had been able, he had come to see his brother and to discover what had happened to Robin.

"Robin _died_, like you should have," hissed Kate. "Your butcher of a sister poisoned him and he died, just there." She pointed a trembling finger towards a grove of trees just over a rise near the camp.

Guy sighed. He had been over his relationship with Isabella time and again. Clearly Kate was never going to accept that he had hated her and desired nothing but revenge against her. He tried a different tactic. "I am sorry for your loss, Kate. I know how you cared for him."

"You know _nothing_ you murderous son of a—"

"Do I not?" Guy snapped and stood, looming over the unkempt, waiflike Kate. He yanked his shirt out of his pants and lifted it, exposing the scars for her to see. "I suffered at her hands as well and afterwards, I _sought_ the death you wish on me. It is only by the stubbornness of one wom- one healer that I did not die."

"Better you had," growled John.

"I came back to find my brother and to see if…if there was still a place for me here. I see now that nothing I do will ever change your opinions of me. You would think you all might have learned a lesson about judgments considering that Allan _died_ due to your mistrust." Guy felt a surprising pain at that memory. He had actually wound up _liking_ the rogue he had tormented into breaking faith with the gang. Allan's death was something he had not yet faced, or had a chance to mourn.

"How dare you speak his name?" Kate shrieked, lunging at him. Much grabbed her and held her back. John rose, staff in hand and took a step forward. Tuck laid a hand on his shoulder, but John shook it off angrily.

"Kate is right. If we didn't trust him, it's because of what you did to him," John shouted. "We accepted you because we had the same enemy. Isabella. She is dead. We have no use for you now."

"Very well, then," said Guy tiredly. "I'll not trouble you with my presence any further." He rose and began walking away, unsure where he was going, but wishing to put quick distance between himself and their hostility.

"Enough of this." The voice was quiet, but carried an aura of command. Guy looked back to see that Archer had risen. "Sit down, all of you. Guy?" It was not a question, but a command. Slowly, Guy returned to the fire. He did not sit, but folded his arms across his chest and waited to see what his brother had to say.

Archer gazed at each member of the gang in turn. Only Tuck was able to maintain the eye contact without finally looking down in submission. "That's better. I don't want to hear another word about the past. Guy was one of us once, and he's one of us still. It was Robin's decision. You all know that." He turned to Guy, "And we need you, brother. I'm not too proud to admit that."

"Why?" Guy's response was curt.

"Prince John has garrisoned a company of Black Knights in Locksley. The villagers were turned out or fled in fear. Those without families nearby have been forced to camp in the forest. They have nothing but what we bring them; no protection other than what we provide. The commander of the knights [some guy's name] is no idiot like Vasey. He's cunning and cruel. Many have died of hunger and sickness. We have been hard pressed to care for the villagers and keep ourselves from the noose at the same time. Another trained sword would be a help." Archer was not quite pleading, but Guy could see the desperation in his eyes.

He opened his mouth, unsure what response to give, but Tuck interrupted smoothly. "Surely, a decision does not need to be made tonight, Archer. Guy. I think perhaps after some rest everyone will have clearer heads."

"I get tired of you constantly being right, Tuck." Archer gave a half-smile. "Let us all sleep on it and decide in the morning what's to be done. Guy? Will you stay?"

Guy considered. It was freezing cold and still drizzling an icy rain. He had no weapons, no cloak, no food or water. At the very least, he could impose on his brother in the morning for those things before he left to go…somewhere else. And he found that he was bone weary. He longed for the oblivion of sleep where, if the dreams did not come, he might forget the pain for awhile.

"I'll stay. Tonight."

Later, as he climbed into the bed that had been his before, he hoped if he did dream, it would be of Afton.


	6. Chapter 5

The year turned towards winter and Afton passed the days like one half alive. Her cottage, usually so tidy, began to show signs of neglect. She did not bother to spin most days, or to cook hot food. Her normal fastidiousness gave way to tangled hair and clothing that needed washing and mending. She simply did not care enough to look after her appearance.

She had spent the first weeks after Guy's departure half-fearing, half-hoping that she would be left to bear his child. But that matter was settled on afternoon late November when her courses came on with a vengeance, sending Afton to curl up in misery in her bed. She wept for hours, not knowing whether she was relieved or heartbroken. Towards evening, she heard a soft rap on the door.

"Who is it?" she called weakly.

"It's Edwina. Afton? Are you well?" her good-sister's inquired in her soft voice.

"Come in, 'Wina." The door swung open and Edwina stepped into the dimness of the cottage. She looked around, perplexed and finally spotted Afton huddled in the bed.

"My goodness, Afton! You startled me." She bustled in, setting a laden basket on the table and throwing off her heavy winter cloak. "Where are your lamps? I can barely see in here." She lit a rush from the fireplace and walked around the cottage, lighting the lamps. As the light grew, the dismal state of the cottage came into clearer relief. "Oh, Afton," Edwina's voice was low and concerned. "What ever is the matter, sister?"

"Just…just my monthly, that's all." But Afton started to weep afresh. Edwina crossed to sit on the bed, drawing Afton into her arms and murmuring comforting words. Afton, who had spent weeks longing for such warmth, wept harder because though her good-sister's embrace was comforting, it was not the one she desired. "Oh, Goddess…Edwina…" her cry was anguished. It was a mark of her upset that she invoked the Lady in front of Edwina, who crossed herself but gave no word of reproach.

"Afton, I wish you would tell me what's going on." Edwina's blue eyes were dark with concern.

Afton laughed bitterly through her tears. "I only did what you told me, 'Wina. I fell in love again. That's all."

"With who? Someone from the vill- oh, Afton. Oh, no." Realization swept over Edwina's round face. "And…he's gone?"

"As soon as he was healed enough. It…was not a surprise. I just didn't think it would hurt this much." Afton dissolved into tears once more. Part of her was embarrassed to show so much emotion. "It seems…as though all I do lately…is cry all over you."

"Don't fuss yourself about it. It's winter. Everything is dark, and grim. Come spring, you'll feel more yourself and we can start looking for a husband for you." Edwina nodded firmly, as though all was settled.

Afton stared at her incredulously, tears running down her face and wetting her shift. "Do you think that all men are alike then? One to be exchanged for another?" She pulled away from Edwina and settled back against the pillows. "No. I will never marry again. I swore I would not, nor would I love again after Edward…died. I broke that vow and somehow I fell in love with a man I can never have. I will not make that mistake again."

"Perhaps he will return for you, Afton," Edwina said hopefully.

"He will not," Afton replied with certainty. "He has people somewhere, 'Wina. A brother. Family of far higher station than you and I. Even if he did come back, I could not hope to be more than his _leman_ and that, I will not do. Not ever."

She picked up a cup of herbal tonic she had brewed for her symptoms and sipped from it, brown eyes hard and determined in the lamplight. "The best I can hope for now, is that in time I will learn to hate him. And then forget him. But by the Goddess, Edwina, I swear I will never marry again."


	7. Chapter 6

It began with the children.

One frigid afternoon, shortly before Yule, Afton awoke from a light doze to a frantic hammering on the door. Her healer's instincts flared instantly to life as she shot to her feet and ran to the door, throwing off the bar and wrenching it open in one smooth movement. Her heart, already hammering from the abrupt awakening, beat even faster as she beheld her good-sister, Edwina, clutching the motionless form of her three-month old son.

"Afton…help me!" Edwina panted, desperately trying to catch her breath. Clearly, she had run the entire distance from her cottage to Afton's. Afton ushered her in and barred the door behind her, then gently took baby Christopher from her arms. He burned with fever so hot she could feel it through his thick swaddling clothes. She rushed to the bed where she could lay him down and unwind his wrappings. She checked his pulse and color; he was red in the face and began to cry weakly as his skin was bared to the slightly drafty air of the cottage. "At least he's not blue, thanks be to the Goddess," Afton thought to herself. Despite that thought, she felt a cold weight settle in the pit of her stomach when she noted the red streaks on his tiny legs and the spreading scarlet rash on his skin.

She rewound his wrappings and began asking questions. When had he last eaten? When was his last soiled clout? Had he been sleeping more, or less, than usual? With each answer, Afton became more and more frightened. The babe had refused the breast since the day before and had not messed or wet since morning. His sleep was fitful, broken by bouts of weak coughing and fitful crying. Then, the fever had set in and risen with shocking rapidity.

Afton pressed Edwina down to sit on the edge of the bed and put the child in her arms for comfort. Then she stood still, mentally reviewing the symptoms and checking them against a memory trained from years of treating childhood maladies. A thought occurred to her and she knelt on the floor, taking the babe's tiny head in the palm of her left hand. She probed his neck gently for a moment, feeling the hard, swollen nodules under her fingertips. There was but one final thing she needed to confirm her fears. "Hold him tightly, Edwina," she commanded, prying his tiny jaws open with the thumb and fingers of her right hand. She peered down his throat, hoping she would not see what she feared. But the white coating on his tongue was visible even in the dim late-afternoon light.

She rose. "Edwina, it's…" she paused, taking a steadying breath. "It's scarlatina." Afton heard her good-sister's sharp indrawn breath and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "This is something I know how to treat, Edwina."

"Will he live?" Edwina pleaded, head lowered over her child. Afton could see the tears that dripped on the baby's wrappings and searched for words that would comfort, yet be truthful.

"I'll do everything I can. I swear to it." She moved with purpose towards the herb shed attached to her cottage thankful that she had continued the habit of keeping it tidy and well-stocked, even though the rest of her home had suffered from neglect since Guy's departure. "Lay him on the bed, Edwina, and fetch fresh water. We're also going to need milk. Yours, if possible. There's a clean crock you can use if we can't get him to take the breast." She glanced over her shoulder and noticed her good-sister's rosy blush. "This is no time to be modest, 'Wina. I'll show you what to do. Now go." Her authoritative tone propelled the taller woman into motion and Afton continued into the shed, satisfied that Edwina would do what was necessary.

From that moment on, Afton and Edwina worked tirelessly around the clock to save young Christopher's life. They dosed him with medicine, drop by tiny drop, and coaxed him to accept milk, first squeezed into his mouth from a clean rag then, blessedly, from his mother's breast. While they nursed the baby through the worst of the fever, several other mothers called at the cottage to report that their children, too, were suffering from what was being called "the morbid sore throat." Afton sent them away with packets of medicine and instructions, but could not leave her nephew's side for even a moment.

Finally, on the fourth morning since Edwina's frantic race for the cottage, Afton felt confident enough to declare that he would survive. Edwina burst into tears of thanksgiving and fatigue and it was only when Afton took her good-sister into her arms that she realized that Edwina, too, was burning with fever.

She had barely settled Edwina in the bed and dosed her with fever brew when there was a sharp knock at the door. She hurried over and opened it, expecting Edwina's husband Chris. But it was Margaret, the miller's wife, carrying her three-year-old daughter. Afton reached out her arms for the child, steeling herself against the heat of the fever she anticipated. But the child was still and cold. "Oh, Goddess…oh, please, no…" Afton murmured, feeling for a pulse. But there was none. The child was dead.

Incoherent with grief and fear, the story tumbled from Margaret's lips. While Afton and Edwina had struggled to save young Christopher, more children had fallen ill. Nearly every family in the village had at least one sick child and in some cases, entire families were stricken by the "scarlet" fever. Margaret's little girl had come down with it three days earlier but had only seemed mildly ill. Then the fever had set in and the child had begun shaking and gasping for breath, her little body wracked with uncontrollable spasms. "I sent for the priest," Margaret said. "'Twas clear she had a demon in her, poor lamb. Friar William prayed over her and…gave her the Last Rites. After that, she calmed but…it wasn't a quarter of an hour more and she was…gone. He said…he said she wasn't strong enough to fight the evil that had taken her and that…she's with God now." The young mother beseeched Afton with her eyes, willing her to agree.

But that was the one thing Afton could not do. Exhaustion and fear, combined with the long weeks of depression and despair over Guy, had made her reckless beyond caring. Through the roaring anger in her ears, she heard herself cry, "Why didn't you bring her to me, Margaret? By the Goddess, I could have saved her. That fat fool cost your daughter her life!" Immediately, her hands flew to her mouth, as though trying to cage the words that had already taken their perilous flight.

Margaret crossed herself and reached for her daughter's body. Her eyes were wide and frightened. "I…I brought her to you to lay out for her…for her burial. But…I can see you have your hands full. I'll just…I'll go now." Clasping the child to her breast, she turned and fled.

Edwina, having overhead the entire confrontation, rose weakly from the bed. "Oh, Afton. What have you done?"


	8. Chapter 7

As soon as Margaret left the cottage, Afton leapt into action. She checked Edwina then threw on her cloak and ran, pell-mell towards Edwina and Christopher's cottage. Halfway there, she met Chris coming down the path to look in on his wife and son. "Chris, you've got to get Edwina and the baby out of the cottage. Hurry!" Chris, seeing the frantic expression on his good-sister's face, hurried his pace and held his questions. When they reached Afton's cottage she threw a blanket at him. "Wrap her in that. I'll carry the baby." She rushed into the herb shed and grabbed several packets of the medicines she had prepared to treat the scarlatina and stuffed them in the pockets of her apron.

Less than a half hour later, Edwina and the baby were ensconced in their own beds and Afton had given Christopher instructions for their care. Only then did he finally speak. "Afton, what is happening?"

"The less said, the better, Christopher. If…no, when it comes to pass, you will know. And…when it happens, I want you to make me a promise. No matter what, you must denounce me." Christopher started to protest, bewildered, but Afton held up her hand. "It's a matter of witchcraft, Chris. That is all I will say. You must denounce me to save yourselves." Slowly, the big man nodded. Afton turned away, unable to bear the understanding, and the sudden tears, she saw in his eyes.

On the third day after the death of Margaret's child they came for her. A delegation of villagers led by Friar William knocked on Afton's door as politely as though they were merely stopping by for a visit. "Widow Cooper?" the Friar called. "In the name of God, come out at once and be charged."

Afton opened the door with trembling hands. "Good afternoon, father. Charged with what, may I ask?" She hid her hands in her apron and regarded each of the villagers coolly. As expected, she saw Margaret among the small crowd. She was also unsurprised to see Catherine, whose babe had strangled at birth. She was, however, shocked to see several men whose children and wives she had successfully treated over her years as the village cunning woman. Their faces were set and angry and she wondered what lies the priest had told them to rouse them to such an emotion.

"Do not pretend you are ignorant, woman!" the Friar spat, taking her arm and hauling her out into the dooryard. "We are here to lay charges of witchcraft at your feet." One by one, he called the villagers forward, beginning with Catherine.

"Pleaded with the devil, she did, to give her my babe. Belike to use in some unholy rite." Afton remembered murmuring pleas to the Goddess to save the child, but she had thought Catherine too far gone in pain and fear to hear them.

Margaret stepped forward and testified to Afton's blasphemy, both in invoking her demon goddess and in impugning the reputation of the holy father. "Called you a 'fat fool' she did. Right to my face," she said loudly. If there were a few snickers in the crowd, they were rapidly hushed.

Each of the men in the group stepped forward to testify that one or more of their family members had died after receiving medicine and instructions from Afton. "But that's insane!" she cried. "I've been healing your children for years. I brought most of them to birth with my own hands! Why would I do such a thing?"

"Quiet, woman!" the priest thundered. Then he presented his own evidence. He told of Afton kissing the dark man in the barley fields. He told of overhearing her unholy congress with the man. He told of the man's damning disappearance. "It does not take a scholar of witchery to see that it was a demon, summoned from hell itself." He drew himself up as straight as his pot-belly and short stature would allow. "How do you answer for your actions, Afton Cooper?"

Afton slowly looked around her, letting her gaze rest for a long moment on each of the villagers who had accused her. Most would not meet her eyes. Many made the sign of the cross. "I say…" her voice broke. These were her friends, her neighbors since her own birth, seized by a madness as unholy as the acts she was accused of committing. She searched her heart and mind and found no words with which to defend herself. Nothing she said would be believed. That was the way of things. It was a danger she had accepted, and her mother before her, all her life. Now the day of reckoning had arrived. Her spine straightened and she tossed her head proudly. "I say I am innocent, much good that will do me." She affected what she hoped was a good imitation of Guy's sneer, her lip curled in disdain. "You're ignorant fools, the lot of you. And he's the biggest fool of all." She jerked her thumb at the Friar. "Follow him, and you'll regret it for the rest of your lives." She only meant to remind them that they would have to live with the consequences of their testimony, but the Friar seized upon her words.

"Do you see? She threatens us even now. Bind her! Gag her! Take her to the mill and lock her in the shed by the pond. As for the cottage…burn it!"


End file.
